


Wassail, wassail, all over the town

by fawatson



Category: The Charioteer - Mary Renault
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 19:25:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9006919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fawatson/pseuds/fawatson
Summary: Carol singing brings back memories.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [redleather](https://archiveofourown.org/users/redleather/gifts).



> **Disclaimer:** I do not own these characters and make no profit by them.
> 
>  **Acknowledgements:** Many thanks to my beta-reader.

Ralph had phoned the night before to explain he was working and couldn’t pick him up at the station, so Laurie did not hesitate when his train got in, but made a beeline for the exit. Mindful of Laurie’s limp, Ralph had suggested a taxi; but there was a long queue: he would be waiting there for ages. And the flat wasn’t _that_ far. Invalided out of the army though he had been, he was _not_ an invalid. 

Laurie quite enjoyed the crowd of late afternoon Christmas shoppers as he followed the paths through the centre of town. Foot traffic moved very slowly at this time of year, moved at Laurie’s pace, in fact. The Sally Anns were out, with bells and band, singing carols; and he paused to listen. Good Heavens, that was a good basso voice that man had; no wonder they had done that passage as a solo. He fished in his pocket for a shilling which he dutifully added to the collection box before he moved on. He remembered how involved his mother had been with good works at Christmas each year, always knitting things that got wrapped up with odd bits of ribbon and were eventually distributed round the village on Christmas Eve by members of the Women’s institute, with the village choir accompanying them. Laurie recalled his days as a boy soprano with the choir. His mother had always insisted that he go carol-singing bundled up in layers of woolly pullovers underneath his cassock. 

As a child, he had been a reluctant chorister. It had been a chore required by his mother; and he had sung the carols unaware of the real need – the deep poverty of the countryside, enhanced by the Depression – that the Christmas cheer had hidden. Only after he had gone to Oxford, had Laurie realised, with the clarity of hindsight, how carefully his own mother must have had to manage when he was little, how much his grandparents must have helped. The wealth of some of his peers at the college had brought it home to him that, comfortable though his childhood had been, there must not have been a lot of cash to spare. Nevertheless, there had also been people a lot worse off; and, heavily involved with the Women’s Institute as she was, Mrs Odell had been roped in every year to bake cakes and make things to give to the needy. Now, Laurie knew, as the vicar’s wife, she was the one doing the ‘roping in.’ Her last letter to him had been full of it, amidst lamentations that he was not making the trip ‘home’ for Christmas this year. As he read it, he _had_ felt a twinge of guilt at her obvious (and no doubt genuine) disappointment, but only the merest hint of one. She clearly revelled in her role as minister’s wife; and her house would be full of Straike relatives, all of whom thought very highly of her, so she would get lots of attention from them. Hers would be a happy Christmas, he was sure. He wouldn’t really be missed—and he would in no way miss the husband-hunting Babs Whitely. 

Lost in his thoughts, he suddenly realized that he had reached the street where Ralph had digs: a crescent of Victorian semi-detached houses, all rather large and rundown. Not for the first time he thought it such a shame these houses, once the comfortable homes of prosperous businessmen, had fallen on ‘hard times’ and been converted (normally badly) into flats or boarding houses. A lot of students at the university found themselves living on this street; Ralph had heard about his place through Alec and Sandy (who, if Laurie remembered, had had a place at a crossroad to this one, until Alec had qualified and been called up, and Sandy had gone to stay with Peter and Theo for his final year of study). 

A brisk wind was blowing, bringing with it a few flakes of snow as Laurie turned in the gate to the house where Ralph lived. Laurie felt the chill in his bad knee as he waited at the front door for the landlady to answer the bell. He could hear her talking to someone, though the exact words were muffled by the door. Then he heard voices rise in a crescendo of four-part harmony, and realised she must have invited some carol-singers in from the cold. That must mean the door was unlocked. He pushed and it gave; and he found himself facing the backs of a semi-circle of young men and women in overcoats and capes that declared them associated with Bridstow Hospital. Of course: they would be collecting for people stuck on the ward for the festive season. They weren’t bad singers either (though no voice stood out the way that Salvation Army basso’s had). 

Remembering his own dismal time at the EMS, Laurie dug into his pocket for a sixpence, and added it to the collection at the end of their song. When he had gone carolling in his childhood, he remembered being ‘paid’ in mince pies and gingerbread, bits of barley sugar, and occasionally a cup of cocoa. But, nowadays, food was rationed. Rich Christmas fare that used carefully hoarded raisins and currants, or the even more jealously guarded stock of spice, would never be offered. Besides, everyone was collecting for war work. Whether that meant wounded men on the wards or evacuated families from those cities still experiencing bombing, it was cold hard cash that was wanted now. The hopefully pleading eyes of the young nurse holding the collection box saw him digging again in his pocket for a second sixpence, before the group shifted out the door (letting in renewed gust of cold) wishing the landlady and Laurie a ‘Merry Christmas’. 

“Mr Odell, isn’t it?” welcomed the landlady, as she shut the door securely. “Captain Lanyon told me to expect you.”

Laurie smiled and exchanged the usual pleasantries about the weather and his journey as she showed him up the stairs to the door to Ralph’s rooms and used her master key to let him in. 

Inside the rooms were as spare in their furnishings as he remembered from his last visit; but his welcome was instantly visible: beside one wingchair, Ralph had set out slippers for him, and a large green cushion rested on a small footstool that Laurie would prop his leg on. In the kitchen, Ralph had left a teapot and tea caddy on the counter beside the portable gas rings he used as a cooker. Laurie looked in the little larder fridge: there was even a spot of milk. No doubt tucked in a cupboard, there would be the makings for some of Ralph’s special. But he always remembered Laurie’s preferences whenever he visited. Laurie made himself a nice cuppa, chose a book from the shelf, and settled in to wait.

A very light dusting of snow had fallen by the time Ralph let himself in downstairs. He paused briefly to knock on his landlady’s door. 

“I thought you might be missing one,” he explained as he held out the wet and shivering grey-striped cat he had found on the doorstep. 

“Oh, poor thing!” Mrs Simmons exclaimed, “but, no, she’s not one of mine. I’d have known if any of _mine_ were missing,” she asserted with a quick, anxious glance behind her, just in case one was giving her the lie. 

Through the open doorway, Ralph could see two plump black and white cats curled up together in the middle of the sofa; another, who had come to the door with her human, now rubbed herself in figure eights against his legs, leaving, he realised with sinking heart, long fluffy white hair on his trousers. 

“But there is always space for one more,” Mrs Simmons smiled, rubbing the new cat’s ears by way of greeting as she accepted transfer from Ralph. “Or two or three…,” the landlady sounded a bit uncertain. “She seems to be pregnant. Are you _sure_ you don’t want–” 

“I couldn’t leave her in better hands, then,” said Ralph hastily, giving her his most charming smile. “Merry Christmas!” 

He did not look back, as he set off up the stairs, and heard his landlady’s answering ‘Merry Christmas’ and the sound of her door being closed with a definite sense of relief. She could be relentless in her pursuit of homes for stray animals, and he had found himself taking care of various cats temporarily over the months he had rented here. Fortunately, there was a strong naval tradition of the ship’s cat, which had served him well in eventually placing the animals elsewhere. But no new ships were due into the dockyard over the next week; and he did not want to be saddled with a feline – still less a pregnant queen – for the holidays. 

Laurie was napping over his book as Ralph entered. The standard lamp illuminated his head like a halo, bringing out the ruddy tints. Ralph closed the door very quietly, not wanting to disturb him, then divested himself of his damp overcoat and scarf which he hung on a peg to the left of the door, before slipping off his galoshes and leaving them on the drip tray. He stood for a moment, observing the lines of tension around Laurie’s mouth. His leg must be bothering him again. 

Silently, carefully, Ralph turned round, plucked outerwear from the peg, bent and picked up his galoshes and let himself out the door again. In the dark hallway he paused to put on the warm clothes before he nipped down the stairs and out again. He had got nothing in for tonight, thinking they would walk along to the local pub for a meal. But if Laurie was tired from travelling – and clearly his leg was stiff and sore – they would be better staying in. At the local fish and chip shop he ordered two large pieces of haddock and one chips. 

“Anything else?” asked the slip of a girl who was serving.

“Two pickled onions, please,” ordered Ralph. 

The newspaper-wrapped bundle under his arm smelled enticing as he walked briskly homeward, whistling. 

“I was pretty sure I recognised your whistle coming up the street,” Laurie greeted Ralph, standing as he opened the door. “You sounded very cheerful.”

“I should think I sounded hungry,” Ralph retorted, “and for more than one thing.” He put down the package and reached for Laurie to draw him into a hug. “There,” he said after they emerged from a kiss, “that’s more like it.” 

“I gather we are having fish for tea,” Laurie replied prosaically, “and a cosy night in.” He rubbed his cheek against Ralph’s, as he said the latter, showing the idea was far from unwelcome. 

Ralph gave a hoot of laughter, released Laurie, and picked up the food, taking it through to the tiny kitchen. “I’ll be just a minute.” 

He was as good as his word, returning, having divided the food in two, but leaving it in its paper, handing one portion to Laurie, while he opened a bottle of beer. 

“No plates? No knife and fork?” asked Laurie, surprised. Ralph was usually a stickler for utensils. 

“With fish and chips?” Ralph laughed. “Heaven forfend! I’d be drummed out of the Service! Besides…” he broke off the end of one piece of fish and popped it into Laurie’s mouth, “it’s more fun this way.” 

Laurie was putting the greasy paper into the kitchen bin, and Ralph was finishing his last mouthful of beer, when the air raid warning went. 

“Damn it! I thought we’d got shot of that nonsense now,” Ralph exclaimed. “We’ve not had an air raid here in months. You’d have thought the snow earlier in the day would have kept them away.” 

“Clearly, this is Germany’s early Christmas present to us,” Laurie said wryly, “Have you a shelter near here?” 

“Down at the end of the road.” Ralph sighed with exasperation. “I suppose we’ll have to…. Yes, definitely go,” he added as he heard his landlady call up the stairs. He opened the door to the flat and stuck his head round, answering, “Coming Mrs Simmons.” 

The light snowfall had ended; and a full moon in a clear sky illuminated the street as they accompanied her to the shelter. At one point, Laurie gallantly offered the elderly woman his arm, when she stumbled on the stairs leading down to the crypt of the church. There she was warmly greeted by old friends and whisked off to a chair in the far corner. Ralph and Laurie chose instead to hover near the entrance, ready to leave at the first sign of the All Clear. 

“It shouldn’t take long,” Ralph assured him. “The last raid was very small – I swear just one plane that had lost its way!” and then added, less hopefully, “Look out: we’re about to be corralled into something to keep up our spirits.”

Laurie looked round. Sure enough, a young woman was approaching. He had seen her out of the corner of his eye, making her slow way around the room. Now she had got to the two of them. “We’re getting up a sing-song,” she explained hopefully, “with the Carol Singers who have taken shelter with us. Do either of you care to join?” She looked from one to the other, and smiled encouragingly. “We’re rather short of men, and could do with some nice deep voices to add depth to the chorus.”

“I’m tone deaf,” Ralph replied tersely, to Laurie’s astonishment. He had, in the past, often heard his rich baritone sounding from the bathroom in ‘Rule Britannia’.”

“I can sing a little,” offered Laurie hesitantly, “although I am just a tenor, so won’t add much depth.” With a slightly puzzled backward glance, he allowed himself to be herded into the group in the centre of the crypt; but he sang with half his attention on Ralph sitting solemnly on the floor by the stairs. 

“Why?” he asked, after the air raid was over and they were safely back in Ralph’s flat, enjoying a tot of rum to warm up. (It had been _cold_ in that crypt!) “I _know_ you can sing. And why look so disgruntled when she asked?” 

Ralph’s face reddened, “Was I ungracious?”

“You know you were.”

There was a long, awkward pause before Ralph admitted, almost in a whisper, “I don’t know the songs.”

Laurie looked shocked. “The songs! The _carols?_ But everyone knows carols, Ralph!”

Ralph shook his head, “Plymouth Brethren don’t sing them – or at least, the meeting my family attended never did. I…,” he hesitated before finishing, “…just never learned any.” 

He forbore to mention the beating he had earned one year after he had slipped out without permission to join a friend who had gone carolling. He had remained at the back of the group and just hummed along. But he’d been seen, and when his mother found out, confined to his room, lectured, and finally caned. 

“I had no idea.” Laurie said, before putting his arms round his friend. “I could teach you, if you’d like.” 

Ralph grinned and nodded. “But not tonight,” he said before drawing Laurie into a kiss. 

“No, not tonight.”


End file.
